


and i let it burn

by wafflesofdoom



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9490994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesofdoom/pseuds/wafflesofdoom
Summary: lachlan is released from juvenile detention, and aaron pays the price for robert’s mistakes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisissirius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/gifts).



Robert remembered the crash in every single tiny, vivid detail. They’d been walking across the main street, arm in arm, drunk off champagne (but mostly off love), talking about the future and making fun of Sam’s terrible dancing, the noise from the Woolpack rambunctious background music to the soft sway of their walk, reminding them they did have a wedding reception to get back to when they managed to tear themselves away from each other.

_Husbands_.

They’d organised it in a rush, in the end - the registry office in Hotten booked out, but Harriet happy to perform a blessing to tide them over until they could go to the registry office and sign the paperwork the next morning.

It had been the most perfect day of his entire life, until the Range Rover had appeared out of nowhere and hit them, Lachlan behind the wheel, drunk and wild-eyed. Robert winced as he remembered the way he heard the sickening crunch of his own arm breaking, Aaron trying to shield him from the impact.

Aaron took the brunt of the impact. 

_Internal bleeding._

_Severe head injury._

_Suspected spinal fracture._

Robert had sat in accident and emergency and cried so hard, for so long, that they’d had to sedate him so they could reset his arm, because he was so absolutely hysterical, begging them to let him see Aaron.

Aaron.

His brilliant, beautiful Aaron.

His _husband_.

“Robert?”

A tentative voice drew his attention, Robert looking up from the whiskey in his hand. “What?” He snarled, glaring at his sister. He took no satisfaction from the way Victoria recoiled backwards, looking nervous.

“Jimmy wants to know if you’re going in to work today.” Victoria said, a hand on the door handle.

“Do I look like I am?”

“It’s been three months, Robert - you’ve got to get back to your life.” Victoria said quietly.

Robert knocked back the glass of whiskey, relishing in the way the alcohol burned his throat. He slammed the glass down on the coffee table, standing up, and looking at a clearly terrified Victoria.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” Robert laughed humourlessly. 

“I’m scared of what you’ll do if..” Victoria trailed off.

“If what, Vic?”

“If he doesn’t wake up.” Victoria finished. They’d been tiptoeing around the subject for weeks now, Chas had tried to bring up the doctors concerns once, and it had ended with Robert punching a hole in the kitchen wall and disappearing for three days, and that had been it.

“He’s going to wake up.” Robert said confidently, his gaze flickering toward the half drunk bottle of whiskey. “He’s not going to leave me, Vic.” 

“He’s not going to want to wake up and find you’ve spent months going after the Whites.” Victoria tried.

Robert’s eyes narrowed. “Lachlan got away with mowing Aaron and I down because of his family. Do you really think I’m not going to make them pay?”

The police had found no evidence that Lachlan had been behind the wheel. Lawrence had gotten to the scene before the emergency services, or anyone else, had shoved Lachlan to the passenger seat, feigned a heart attack, and gotten himself a good solicitor.

Robert had to be escorted by security from the court room, and the next day he’d torched Chrissie’s car, and that had been the beginning. Robert was clever, and slowly but surely, he was setting out to ruin their lives.

A few choice words to their biggest clients, and Home Farm was in financial trouble, and that had been enough for Chrissie to send Lachlan to boarding school, keeping him out of Robert’s reach.

“Robert, Aaron wouldn’t want this.”

“Don’t tell me what my husband would want.” Robert turned on her. “If he doesn’t wake up, I’m going to ruin them. Is that clear?”

Victoria backed away slightly. “Robert, please.”

“Please what? My husband is in a coma and it’s because of Chrissie and her sick, twisted kid. I’ll do whatever the hell I want to make myself feel better, and I don’t give a damn what you, or anyone else thinks.”

Robert grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table, glaring at his little sister. “Tell Jimmy he can go fuck himself.”

“Robert, please-“

Robert saw red, and he threw the half empty bottle, the glass shattering just inches from Victoria’s head. “You can do one and all. He’s going to wake up, and when he does, I’ll be the only one who hasn’t given up on him.”

 

____

 

 

Aaron didn’t wake up. Six months in to his coma, he had a stroke, and the doctor’s declared him legally braindead. 

Braindead.

Like Aaron could ever be anything remotely close to braindead, his clever wit and sharp tongue clear in Robert’s memories.

Chas had wanted to let him go peacefully, and Robert had fought her - fought with her in the hospital, dragging her into a court case she’d never forgive him for, one the Dingles, and Diane, and Vic had begged him not to go through with.

A court case that had found Chas was still legally Aaron’s next of kin, because they’d never gotten to register their marriage. Harriet’s blessing wasn’t legally binding, apparently, and Robert had broken down in court when the judge had ruled that Aaron was not a legally married man, and Robert had no say in his medical treatment.

He had vague memories of Andy hauling him to his feet and bringing him back to Emmerdale, and then Robert had gone on a three day bender that had ended with him taking a sledgehammer to the Mill, knocking through every single little bit of progress they’d made on the house.

A house they’d never share. 

Eighteen months after the crash, Aaron died.

Aaron died, and it broke what was left of Robert.

Robert turned up drunk to the funeral. He’d woken up in a cold and damp Mill by himself, and he’d scrambled to the church, stumbling in the door as Andy, and Adam, and Cain, and Sam lifted Aaron’s coffin those last few inches to the altar, a quiet Harriet standing, waiting.

Robert knew he stunk of booze as he slid into the front pew, his black suit dirty and askew, looks of sympathy coming at him from every direction. Chas had cried, and Adam had given a heartfelt eulogy, and Liv had stormed out, and Robert had sat, slumped in a chair, watching as the village celebrated a life that had been too short, too hard, too full of tragedy.

Cain had taken them all by surprise. He’d smacked Robert across the back of the head and ordered him to stand up, letting Robert take his place at the front of Aaron’s coffin.

Robert made it to the hearse before he gave up, leaving before they could bury Aaron, pinching a bottle of whiskey from the pub and drinking until the world was black and he could forget how much it hurt, how much everything hurt, how alone he felt. 

Robert let his life crash down around him. He hadn’t worked since the crash, and had no intention of going back either. Liv was sent to Ireland to live with her mum, and Robert woke up from his latest bender two days after she left. 

_I’m scared of what you’ll do if he doesn’t wake up._

Chas had put ‘loving husband, son and brother’ on the gravestone. Robert had cried when he first saw it, letting his mother in law (or not so much by law) hold him as he collapsed by Aaron’s graveside, hysterical again.

That was the night he decided.

That was the night he decided the Whites would pay. 

And that decision had led him to there and then, standing outside Home Farm, petrol can and lighter in hand.

Chrissie wasn’t the only one who could play with fire. 

“Robert, Robert - come on, put it down.”

Robert swayed, the bottle of whiskey he’d considered his breakfast making him unsteady as he squinted at Rebecca, the youngest of the White sisters pleading with him not to go through with it.

“I get it, you know.” Robert mumbled at Chrissie. “I shouldn’t have had an affair. But you couldn’t just let us be happy, could you? Poisoning your creepy son’s head with all sorts.”

“I didn’t do this, Robert, I didn’t hurt Aaron.”

“But he’s dead.” Robert said. “He’s dead because of your son, and that makes it asgood as your fault.”

“Robert, we can come to some sort of understanding -“ Lawrence tried.

“Your son took my life away. Took my Aaron.” Robert pointed at Chrissie. “So I’m going to burn your house down. You’re lucky, really - could have done this while you were all in bed sleeping. Given you the same warning Aaron got.”

“Robert, you’re not a murderer.” Rebecca said, taking a step toward him. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, you see. You lot would just have been three, four and five on my list.” Robert pointed at each of them as he counted, a snarl on his face. “Lachlan is six, when I find him.”

Robert relished in the fear on their faces as he flicked the lighter, a lighter he’d found in Aaron’s bedside locker. Without so much as thinking it through for a second longer, Robert tossed the lighter, the petrol he’d drowned the front of the house in catching alight immediately.

It was a fireball from the get go, the windows blowing out, glass shattering outwards, catching Chrissie in the back, Lawrence burning his hands as he dragged his screaming daughter away from the flickering flames.

Robert sat and he watched as Home Farm burned.

He hated fire, normally, but Home Farm burning down in front of him on a lonely November afternoon, well, it was the most beautiful thing he’d seen since Aaron. It was the first time he’d felt anything except grief since Aaron had died, a flicker of satisfaction burning in his chest as he listened to the Whites panic.

_I’m scared of what you might do if he doesn't wake up._

The Dingles had tried to cover it up. Robert appreciated it, really, he did. But the evidence had been stacked against him, months of police visits when Chrissie would ring them, reporting Robert for stalking, the day he’d torched her car at the forefront of everyone’s minds as the investigation began.

He pleaded guilty to everything. Criminal damage, attempted manslaughter, arson.

Sixteen years.

It wasn’t enough, Robert decided as he listened to Victoria break down in the gallery.

It wasn’t long enough.

_I’m scared of what you might do if he doesn't wake up._

Maybe Victoria had been right to be terrified, because without Aaron by his side, Robert was happy to watch the world burn.

He’d tried to start the fire, after all.

 

 

** fin. **

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written anything so angsty in such a long time, but inspiration struck. hope you enjoyed!


End file.
